Mon Coozan
by tec4cleveland
Summary: Caje meets and befriends a Cajun interpreter from another squad, only to wind up ensnared in the other man's problems - and a potential plot.
1. Chapter 1

**MON COOZAN, Part 1**

**In the ETO - Fall, 1944**

{A/N: I'm probably playing fast and loose with the facts on one thing. I know "Lacassine Special" was recorded for the first time after the war, but I'm not sure when Iry LeJeune would have written or performed it live before that. He did perform in Eunice prior to WWII, so I'm assuming Caje could have been there. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.

I have tried to footnote unusual French (especially where Cajun usage deviates from Standard French). I've been trying to keep The Unknown French to a minimum but it creeps in sometimes.

"Coozan" is a Cajun version of the French "Cousin", which means just what it looks like. Cajuns sometimes call each other that – one commentator says he thinks all Cajuns can connect up as cousins through one ancestor or another. [] = Dialog all in French.}

###

Paul LeMay took a little time away from the war to be a person again. Not Private First Class LeMay. Not even Caje, the nickname his squadmates gave him. Just Paul again, with nothing to do for the moment except to track down Sarge and find out about his pass. Then he could locate something pleasant to drink and perhaps a pretty face to share it with.

He was rounding the rubble from a blown-up building when he heard a familiar sound, but not one he'd encountered since England, when he and Theo had cheerfully irritated the rest of the barracks by singing songs popular in their Cajun culture.

"_O ye yaie, mais rappelle toi_ ..."

He grinned and rounded the corner, to find a short, stocky man in a private's uniform sitting on a crate leaning against the wall of the rickety building behind him, cap lowered over his eyes. Caje joined him in the verse.

"_Petite fille tout les accroires/Les promesses ça tu m'as fait_ ..."

Taken unawares, the man jerked and nearly fell off the crate. "What t'e'll ..." He lifted the cap off his eyes and squinted at Caje.

"I didn't as' for no sing-a-long, eh?"

Caje shrugged. "Sorry. Didn't realize t'is was a private party." He started to walk away, disappointed.

"'Ey. Wait!" Caje heard the man scramble to his feet behind him and glanced back.

The other man caught up to him. "_Mo chagren__**[i]**_, _coozan_. Just came off a long patrol, and ah, I'm tired. Didn't mean to snap at a fellow Cajun. Remy LeFranc."

"Paul LeMay." The two of them shook hands.

"Where you from, Paul?"

"Bayou Liberté."

"You over by t'e _ville__**[ii]**_, eh? I'm from Lacassine."

"Like the song?"

"Ah, you heard of Iry LeJeune?"

"He came over to Eunice and some _amis_ of mine, t'ey as'ed me to come over and see him."

"Not bad, eh?"

"Nope, not at all."

They grinned at each other and started singing again, together.

"_O ye yaie, mais rappelle toi_  
><em>'Tite fille tout les accroires<em>  
><em>Les promesses ça tu m'as fait<em>  
><em>Tu connais je mérite pas ça<em>  
><em>Tu m'as dit toi tu m'aimais ..."<em> _**[iii]**_

"Will you stop that howling, Frenchy? If I told you once ..." There was no humor or affection in the reprimand. It came from a man wearing a sergeant's stripes who exited the CP with Saunders.

Remy scowled, Caje's expression was a combination of bewilderment and irritation. Saunders surveyed his counterpart noncommitally. Then he nodded at his scout. "Got it for you, Caje …"

"T'anks, Sarge." He took the pass. "Where will I find you when I get back?"

"Same place you left us, as far as I know."

"Sarge, I found anot'er Cajun - meet Remy LeFranc. Remy, t'is is my Sarge, Sergeant Saunders."

"Nice to meet you, LeFranc." Saunders extended a hand. After a moment's hesitation, LeFranc took it and they shook.

"I suppose you want some time off, too, Frenchy."

"If it's all right wit' you, Sergeant Quillan," Remy said indifferently.

"I guess. But don't come back drunk, you hear? I need you to translate for me."

"_Non_, Sarge. Of course not."

After the two Cajuns left, Sarge looked at Quillen. "You were kind of hard on him, weren't you?"

"Aint got no use for them Cajuns. Lazy bastards, wouldn't see any reason to have 'em around if they didn't parly the frantzy," Quillen drawled.

"Lazy? Really?" Sarge sauntered down the street. "That's not my experience. Caje is the Acting Squad Leader when I'm not around. Good scout, too."

Quillen looked at Saunders skeptically. "Oh, they assigned you a saint, did they?"

Saunders snorted, thinking of the last occasion he and Caje had leave at the same time. "He's no saint, but he's a damn good soldier."

"Well, LeFranc isn't. Hardly talks to anyone else in the squad. Does his work but that's about it."

"Thought social skills were only a military priority if you were an officer. Besides, maybe he doesn't speak a lot of English. We had a guy in our squad like that."

"I don't know and I don't care. Not interested in making friends with my men. Just want them to do what I ask 'em. Don't much care for Frenchy's sullen attitude, though."

Sarge thought about Caje's quiet competence and how mostly the squad got along fine, although Kirby's attitude had been pretty bad at first and he and Caje had struck sparks off one another.

"I guess everyone gets a little 'sullen' once in a while. Even me. Hard to be all sunshine and roses when it's 'kill or be killed'."

"You got an answer for everything, don't you, Saunders?"

"Everything, no. But I do know how I'd feel in LeFranc's shoes."

"Yeah, yeah. Cue the violins."

They split up at the crossroads and went to join their squads.

The two Cajuns walked through the village. LeFranc nudged Caje and nodded towards a small storefront on the left.

"Don't look like much, but we get t'e distant relation discount here," he grinned.

The scout laughed. "Lead t'e way, Remy."

They ducked through the doorway. Remy removed his cap and Caje his beret.

"_Messieurs, bienvenue_." The proprietor nodded and gestured for the two of them to sit.

Caje carefully lowered himself onto a rather splintered chair and looked around. "T'is must have been a very nice bistro at one time."

LeFranc nodded. "T'e owner, he tell me t'at it was the best in town, but t'e _Boche_ t'ought it was Maquis headquarters and did their best to put him out of business. He kinda went underground until we got here."

[Remy! You have returned!] A slender, pretty girl in a neatly patched dress hugged an embarrassed LeFranc and conferred a smile on an amused Caje. [And with a friend, no?]

[Oui. This is Paul LeMay. He is a Cajun, like me.]

[Welcome, Paul LeMay! I am Jeannette Aucoin.]

He smiled at her. [Enchante_**[iv]**_, _Mademoiselle_!]

[_Et moi, aussi!__**[v]**_ This is my father, François Aucoin.]

The owner returned with two glasses and a slender bottle. [I'm pleased to meet you, _Monsieur_ LeMay. _Messieurs_, this is something very special I would like you to try.] He manipulated a corkscrew and pulled the cork. He extended it to Remy, who waved it off, redfaced. "Ah, I never known what to do wit' it."

Caje reached for it, sniffed it and handed it back to the proprietor, nodding appreciatively. [You sniff it to see if it smells like wine or like what corks are treated with,] he explained to Remy. [If it smells like the cork, the wine might not be any good. And if it smells like wine, you'd want to make sure there's no hint of sourness.]

[_Merci_, Paul. You're t'e expert.]

The proprietor poured a small amount of wine into a glass and handed it to Caje. Thankful that his father had made him learn how to properly taste wine, he breathed in the bouquet, swirled the wine in the glass, took a small taste of it and rolled it across his palate. He lifted the glass to look at the color, pleased, and smiled at Aucoin. [_Monsieur_, this is exquisite! Thank you for sharing it with us.]

[My pleasure! I'm pleased to meet a fellow connoisseur of good wine.]

[I'm not as knowledgeable as I'd like to be. My father insisted that I at least learn something, but I'm still developing my palate.]

[Ah, that comes in time. What is important is that one takes at least the first steps.]

He poured wine for both of them. Retreating to the back of the bistro, he returned with a platter of bread and cheese, which he placed with a flourish in front of the two soldiers.

"Hey, Frenchy. Knew if we found you, we'd find the good stuff!" Two GIs swaggered their way into the little establishment, plopped down on chairs and grinned insolently at their squad mate.

"Hey, gar-sone, how about some service here, toot sweet!" The bigger man snapped his fingers at M. Aucoin.

The two Cajuns scowled.

"Perhaps you would be more at home somewhere else," Paul glared at the men. "I don't think anything here would suit your sensibilities."

"Didn't ask you, bud. Whatchoo, the local whatzit for culture?"

"I see somethin' that suits my sensibilities just fine, thanks." The other man gave Jeannette a lecherous once-over.

"Leave her alone, Prentiss." Remy stood. "We're supposed to be t'e good guys. T'e ones who help the French, not insult their women."

Caje stood in support of his new friend and the four soldiers glowered fiercely at one another.

"Who said anything about insulting, Frenchy? We're just here to have a good time. Afraid I'll cut in on your action?"

Behind them, a very tall figure ducked into the room. "Hey, Caje."

"Littlejohn? Hey, t'ey sent you back! You all better now?" The scout shook hands with his friend.

"Yeah. Just thought I'd see if you needed anything." He looked meaningfully at the two soldiers from Remy's squad.

"I don't know. Do I need anyt'ing?"

Prentiss and his friend looked Littlejohn over. Behind the big man, Billy, Kirby and Kirkbride looked into the building.

"No, I don't suppose you do." Quillen's men stood and began to leave. "But you better believe I won't forget this, Frenchy. You either, bud. Count on it."

Littlejohn watched them out. "See you, Caje. Have a good 24 hours, okay? But be careful."

"Right, Littlejohn. Good to have you back."

The big man grinned. "I'd say it's good to be back, but Kirby's still here."

"Why you ..." The BAR man sputtered behind Littlejohn as the soldiers left and Caje laughed and shook his head.

"You seem to get along good wit' your squad. Dey your friends, _non_?"

"Yeah, t'ey are. As much as I'll let 'em be, anyway."

"Ah." Remy sipped at his wine. "You lost someone, eh? Someone from home?"

Caje nodded, unsmiling.

"I see. But dey don't give you a hard time, _ces gars__**[vi]**_?"

The scout raised his eyebrows in surprise. "T'em? _Non_. Oh, Kirby used to make me t'e _misère__**[vii]**_, back in t'e beginning, but we get along fine now."

LeFranc didn't say anything. After a while Caje eyed him and spoke. "I'm guessin' you don't have such a good time, eh?"

"_Non_. De sergeant, he from East Texas."

"Oh."

"Yeah. You know?"

"Got family went to the oilfields. I heard."

"_Mais__**[viii]**_, he don't like me 'cause I'm Cajun and so nobody like me. Unless t'ey want me to translate for some _jolie fille__**[ix]**_ or t'ey need to talk to some_maire__**[x]**_ or t'e _Maquis_. T'en I'm dere best _ami_, you know? Ot'er t'an t'at, I might as well be invisible."

"I'm sorry, Remy. I guess I had it better t'an I knew. You want to see if I can get you transferred? I'd like havin' anot'er Cajun in t'e squad."

"Never happen. Quillen'd make de _potain__**[xi]**_ big time. Like I said, he don't t'ink much of us Cajuns, but he needs a translator. Why t'e ot'er day, dey brought me up and dere were all dese German soldiers. I said what you bring me for, I don't speak German. Turns out dey were from Alsace-Lorraine, and dey spoke French! I never heard of Alsace-Lorraine, me. You?"

Caje nodded. "T'e Germans and t'e French been fightin' over it for hundreds of years. So, d'you understand 'em? I don't always get what the locals say. T'ey talk a different language sometimes, almost."

"I know. But ya, I get what t'ey say. T'e Germans ordered 'em to fight for t'e Nazis and t'ey just wanted out. I t'ink t'e bigwigs sent 'em to fight wit' de_Français Libre_ – de Free French, you know?"

_"Oui._" The scout yawned. "I'm sorry, _coozan_. I'm more tired t'an I thought. You know a place with clean sheets and maybe does laundry?"

"Yah. Go out and to t'e left, down t'ree houses or so and look for t'e blue door. Madame Delamalliere has rooms. She'll clean your uniforms too."

"T'anks."

The two of them shook hands. "Hope I'll see you later, Paul."

"You, too, Remy." Caje finished his wine and stood. He bowed over a blushing Jeanette's hand and waved goodbye to her father.

"Aw, I didn't do nothin'."

"Kirby, you just better hope Sarge doesn't hear about it."

Caje shook his head. "What'd you do now, Kirby?"

Littlejohn opened his mouth to speak, and Kirby cut him off.

"Never mind. Did those guys come back and give you a hard time?"

"Nah. T'anks for t'e support, you guys."

"No problem." Littlejohn stretched and yawned. "Beats me why so many of our guys need to be such jerks. I understand letting off steam, yeah, but it's how, sometimes."

"That's right." Kirby nodded firmly. "No reason why you can't have fun and not cause trouble."

Doc snorted, Billy rolled his eyes, Kirkbride and Littlejohn exchanged a look of disbelief and Caje hid a grin.

"T'ey should follow your example, _non_? Be a good citizen like you?"

Yeah! That's right! Like me!"

\The squad burst out laughing and Kirby shook his head in exasperation. "With friends like you guys … geez."

Saunders stuck his head in the door. "Glad to hear you're all in such a good mood. Get your gear. We're going out."

The squad assembled with some good-natured grumbling. "Where are we going, Sarge?"

"Does it matter, Kirby?"

"Well... no. ."

"We'll be heading in the general direction of Germany. That enough for you?"

"Sure, Sarge. Just askin'"

As they neared the outskirts of the village, they met up with another squad. The squad leader turned, and Caje saw with a flash of dislike that it was Quillen.

Kirby nudged him and pointed with his chin at the last man in line. It was Remy; his face bruised just enough to be noticeable. Kirby and Caje looked at one another and then turned to look for Prentiss; Caje glared at the other man, silently promising him payback.

"Caje!"

"Yes, Sarge." He took a deep breath, focused on the job at hand and jogged forward to where Saunders was standing with Quillen.

"Take a look here." The two sergeants held a map between them. Saunders outlined the route the detail was supposed to take. Caje pointed out two possible obstacles and the sergeants agreed on revisions.

"We'll lead," Saunders told Quillen. "Caje, take the point. Kirby!"

"Yeah, Sarge?"

"You've got the rear of the detail."

"Right away, Sarge."

Kirby pulled up beside LeFranc. "Hey. I'm Kirby, BAR man for this squad. You okay?" he asked quietly out of the side of his mouth.

"I'll be all righ'. You tell Paul not to start anyt'ing, okay? It jus' make t'ings worse."

"I dunno. Caje ain't much on doin' nothin."

"He must. Tell 'im for me, _non_?"

The BAR man shrugged. "Okay. If that's what you want."

"_Bon_." They trudged on. "_Merci_, Kirby."

"_Day ren."_

A grin flashed briefly across Remy's face, and quickly disappeared in a _moue_ of pain.

Neither of them saw Prentiss glare over his shoulder as the detail headed down the road.

**END OF PART ONE**

_Notes_:

[i] I'm sorry (Cajun French)  
><span>[ii]<span> 'Ville' means city, but when Cajuns speak of 't'e Ville', they mean New Orleans  
><span>[iii]<span>  
>"<em>O ye yaie<em> (kind of a general lament, like 'woe is me')  
><em>But remember<br>Little girl, all the fancies,  
>the promises you made me<br>you know I don't deserve that  
>you told me you loved me<em>…"

Lacassine Special, Iry LeJeune

A version of this song by the Balfa Brothers is on Youtube here:"Lacassine Special" (If you listen closely, you may notice that the lyrics vary, but that's not unusual in Cajun music)

[iv] One of the French language's more charming conventions. It means "enchanted", as in "I am enchanted to meet you."

[v] Me, too

[vi] These guys

[vii] 'make me t'e misère' – give me a hard time (Cajun construction)

[viii] In standard (or Quebecois) French, 'mais' means 'but'. Cajuns use it to mean 'well', as in "Mais, cher, c'est un bon idée!" – Well, _cher_, that's a good idea.

[ix] Pretty girl

[x] Mayor

[xi] 'make de potain' – cause a fuss

– 30 –


	2. Chapter 2

**In the ETO - Fall, 1944**

{A/N: © 2011, Janet Aldrich, for original plot and original characters - Part II. [] = Dialog all in French.}

The combined squads trudged across a meadow and then up a steep hill. As Caje and Quillen's scout, a tall, thin redhead who was just behind the Cajun, got to the top of the hill, they simultaneously hit the ground and signaled the others to follow suit.

Caje made an agile scramble back down to the two sergeants. "Sarge," he said to Saunders, "t'ere's a machine gun emplacement up t'ere."

The two sergeants exchanged a look that said what they both thinking - _Typical S2 intelligence_.

"Caje, can we flank 'em to get grenades in? Take it out?"

"Maybe to the right. Left is completely open, no cover at all."

"All right. Try skirting to the right and take 'em out. Take – " Saunders paused and looked at Quillen. "What's your scout's name?"

"Grove."

"Okay. Take Grove with you."

"Right, Sarge." He climbed easily back to where Grove lay, and with a silent exchange of gestures, the two men slid quietly around the crown of the hill to the right.

The others moved up. Franklin, the demolitions man assigned to Quillen's squad for this detail, huddled behind the non-coms, along with his second, a gangly kid who seemed barely old enough to be in the army.

Explosions sounded from the right, and gunfire. Then silence fell and they heard Caje shout, "All clear!"

Everyone stood, and without warning, Franklin slipped. He yelped as he staggered backwards down the slope, arms waving, his pack flung in the air. He dropped, and with a sickening crunch, his head hit a partially-buried rock.

Doc slid down the hill as fast as he could. The medic unsuccessfully searched for a pulse. Saunders followed and Doc glanced up, shaking his head.

"Great!" Quillen groused. "Now what are we supposed to do?"

He and Saunders turned simultaneously to look at Machen, Franklin's bewildered second. He shook his head at them, confused. "I … "

Saunders said, under his breath, "Oh, great …"

"Remy!" Caje stopped by LeFranc as some of the others moved Franklin's body to the woods to avoid the Germans finding him.

"Paul." He turned his face slightly away from the scout, pretending to look ahead and managing to make the injuries around his eyes and the snub nose even more noticeable.

"_Cher, _t'is isn't right, what t'ey do to you."

"Mos' of t'e time I'm out of t'e way, like I tol' you. T'is was just because I stood up to t'em. And it would have been worse if it wasn't for you. I heard 'em say t'at t'ey better take it easy cause you and t'e guys in your squad might come back on 'em." He turned back to look at Caje. "So _merci_ for t'at, eh?"

"It's not right." Caje repeated.

"No, maybe not." Remy's black eyes flashed. "But you gonna tell me you and your _amis_ never got pushed around by _les étrangères_, just for bein' Cajun?"

_Can't say t'at – les étrangères_ – _and Papa, too, sometimes_. "We did, but we usually gave as good as we got. You can't even do that, here, by yourself."

"My _papére_ use to say, 'No matter where you at, t'ere you are.' Can't change it, bein' here. And it might not be better anywhere else." He raised a hand to stop Caje. "T'ey're not gonna put me in your squad. _Merci _for wantin' me, but we both know how t'e Army works." He strode on, matching the scout step for step. "Our ancestors survived bein' kicked out of Canada and I'll survive t'is - and t'em."

Twenty minutes brisk hiking brought them to their objective, an old church with a separate campanile.

"So how are we supposed to blow this thing without Franklin? That kid barely knows how to set a charge." Quillen eyed Saunders sourly. "Did they issue you a magic wand? Wave it, willya, and see if an engineer shows up outta nowhere."

Saunders stopped. Realization dawned, bringing a slight smile to his face. "No, not an engineer!" He walked to the entrance. "Caje! Get over here!"

Quillen grunted. "Got a map you need read?"

The scout came up. "Yeah, Sarge?"

"Since we lost Franklin, we need help figuring out how to blow this thing. Like you."

Caje grinned at Saunders ruefully. "I'm not a demolitions man, Sarge."

"No, but you are an architect, right?"

Quillen started in astonishment. "He's a what?"

Saunders and Caje ignored him. "Sarge, I don't know what architects do where you come from, but I was trained to design buildings to be built, not to blow them up. I'm not a structural engineer and t'at's what you really need."

"We don't have one – we've got you."

Caje nodded reluctantly. "Okay, Sarge. I understand. Let me take a look."

The non-coms waited while Caje walked through the building and campanile to survey the buildings' structures. He came out and asked, "Sarge, we got somet'in' I can mark wit'?"

Sarge nudged Quillen, who hadn't stopped staring at the scout, mouth slightly agape. The non-com jumped and scrabbled for his pack. He took out a large piece of chalk and handed it to Caje, who went back in and began marking the walls. "T'ere, Sarge. As best as I can tell, if you put t'e explosives where the chalk is, you'll take the buildings down." He reached out, rubbed the stonework regretfully and shook his head. "Damn' shame, t'ough, t'e building has stood since before the Normans invaded England."

"Sorry, Caje, but that's why we're here. Good work." Saunders slapped him on the back. "That enough for you, Quillen?"

Quillen shrugged. "We'll find out, won't we?" He searched through his men for Francisco, who was carrying Franklin's pack with the explosives. "Let's see if what's 'is name here knows what he's talking about." Francisco and another soldier went into the buildings.

"Prentiss!"

"Yeah, Sarge."

"Tell everyone to get away from the buildings. Tell 'em to go down over the ridge on the right so they don't get hurt when this thing goes up – or down."

"Right."

Prentiss took off.

Caje watched Quillen's men place the explosives and string det cord. They backed out the door and attached the cord to the detonator, leaving enough cord to be at a safe distance when the charges went up.

The two sergeants, Caje on their heels, took off to follow the others. Caje glanced to one side, and saw, to his horror, Remy standing outside the campanile where he'd left him, watching the hurried exodus from the church with a puzzled expression.

"Remy! _Mauditi _Prentiss … run, _cher_, run. T'e buildin' is goin' up!"

LeFranc took off, but not far enough or fast enough. The blast from the detonation caught him and threw him down the hill. His limp body rolled to a stop. Doc went to his aid, and Caje, without hesitation, flattened Prentiss. Littlejohn and Kirby grabbed the enraged scout and pulled him off, Caje spitting invective at the hapless GI in French – every foul word he'd ever heard, in France, Québec or Louisiana.

Kirby murmured something to Caje that no one else heard, and he stopped in mid-rant. The semi-conscious LeFranc was murmuring in French, shifting back and forth and Doc was trying to get him to hold still. Caje crouched by his friend and quietly translated for Doc.

The others stood around the two Cajuns, Saunders' men grim and Quillen's men awkward, until Saunders snapped orders and dispersed the squads, to return to the CP or to carry LeFranc for medical aid.

Two sergeants, one furious PFC and several privates stood at attention in the command center.

A forbidding Lieutenant Hanley was questioning Quillen's men. "Prentiss, you want to explain why you didn't warn LeFranc? Several people have said you were told to do that."

"Aww, I told you! I told Frenchy. It aint my fault he don't speak English good –"

"Enough!" Hanley looked the furious Caje back into place with one steely glare. "PFC LeMay has told us that LeFranc speaks and understands English well enough to understand something as simple as 'get away from here'!"

"I got nothin' more to say. You're listening to him," he nodded towards Caje, "and not me."

"PFC LeMay has earned my trust." Hanley left the corollary unspoken. He tossed his pen on the desk. "Brockmeyer, get the MPs in here."

Brockmeyer hurried to obey. After the MPs left with Prentiss, Hanley looked around at the assembled men. "Dismissed."

"What about me, Lieutenant?" Quillen came as close to a growl as he dared with Hanley.

"What about you, Quillen?"

"I have to go out on a patrol to the French underground. I can't do that without French— LeFranc."

"Saunders, are your men ready to go?"

"Yes, sir. Whatever we have to do, we will."

"Then stay for a bit after the others go and I'll go over the mission with you."

"But, Lieutenant!" Quillen didn't try to restrain himself. "You said this has gotta be done by a certain time!"

"And you just said you couldn't go out without LeFranc."

"So give me him." He pointed to Caje.

Saunders and Caje simultaneously burst into angry objections. Hanley gestured curtly and cut them off.

"Give me one good reason why I should," Hanley said coolly. "You've already demonstrated that you treat Cajuns with disrespect, enough that one of your men thought it was all right not to warn his squad mate that he could be killed. Why would I second PFC LeMay to your squad for this detail?"

"My men are already ready to go. By the time you get Saunders up to speed and he gets his men ready, they won't have time to make the rondy-voo."

The lieutenant took a deep breath and expelled it in a rush. He drummed his fingers on the makeshift table. Finally, not looking at either Saunders or the angry scout, he said, "As much as I hate to admit it, Quillen, you're right."

He held up his hand to forestall the objections, "It's not a permanent transfer, Caje. This is just a quick 'there and back' to give the underground equipment and assignments. It won't be long and when it's over, you'll be back with your squad." He met Caje's eyes this time. "You have five minutes to go to the aid tent and see how LeFranc's doing. Then report to Sergeant Quillen, and be prepared to leave immediately."

"Yes, sir," Caje said through clenched teeth. He snapped off a precise salute and strode quickly from the CP.

Quillen nodded and left.

Hanley braced for Saunders' response, and the sergeant didn't disappoint him.

"Since when are these things ever a 'simple there and back', Lieutenant?"

"You'll just have to hope it will be, Saunders. Dismissed."

"That's not good enough, Lieutenant Hanley. I don't see why Caje has to take the brunt for Quillen's failings."

"He's needed. He's going. That's it! Dismissed!"

"Yes, sir!" Saunders fired off a salute like a bullet from a gun and followed the others.

Caje stood over Remy's cot for a moment. He studied the other Cajun's face. The LeMays ran to long and thin; relatively tall, slender, long faces and features. The LeFrancs looked to him to be like a lot of the men he'd grown up around, shorter, stocky, with round faces and blunt features and black, snapping eyes. _He comes of good, decent stock, if he's like my neighbors – and I think he is_. _But all Quillen had to hear was "Cajun"._ He shook his head. _I have to go out with t'at man and I have a better chance at comin' back if I put everyt'ing aside for now. Later, though – later._

He checked his watch. _Time to go_.

"Paul?"

Caje stopped abruptly on his way out of the aid tent. Jeannette huddled outside the entrance, tears streaking her face. "Remy? _T-il guérir_?ii"

_I hope he'll be all right. _The scout hugged her gently. "_Il est inconscientiii,_ Jeannette. _Viens avec moi, chérieiv._"

A nurse just inside the tent stopped the two of them as they entered.

Caje was apologetic, but firm. "This is Jeannette Aucoin from the town. She doesn't want to get in the way, but she is very concerned about Remy LeFranc."

"LeFranc?" She reviewed her charts. "He's still unconscious."

"I know. I was sitting wit' him before you came on duty."

Jeanette fought to be brave, but a new tear left its mark among the others. "_S'il te plaît, Paul, puis-je rester avec lui pendant quelque tempsv_?"

"Can she sit with him for a while? I have to go on patrol."

The nurse looked between the two of them. "For a while. But tell her if we say she has to go, she has to go."

He turned Jeannette towards him. Compassionately, he said, _"_ _Chérie, elle dit que tu peux rester avec lui pour l'instant, mais si ils te demandent de partir, tu dois aller. Comprends-tu__?vi "_

"_Oui,_ Paul. _Je __comprends__._" She turned to the nurse. "Thank you. I will listen," she said in halting English.

The nurse took her arm and led her to LeFranc's cot. She looked back to Caje, who waved to her with a confidence he didn't feel. _What have I gotten myself into?_

- 30 -

i Damned

ii Will he be all right? 

iii He is unconscious__

iv Come with me, dear.  
><em><br>_

v_  
><em> Please, Paul, can I sit with him for a while? 

vi__

Dear, she said you can stay with him for now, but if she asks you to leave, you have to go. Do you understand?


	3. Chapter 3

{A/N: © 2011, Janet Aldrich, for original plot and original characters - Part III. [] = Dialog all in French.}

As his squad formed up, Quillen waved Caje forward. The non-com handed him a slip of paper. "Hanley dictated the passphrases to LeFranc. Hope you can read it. Frenchy showed it to me – the short phrase on the top is the "safe" phrase. S2 says a squad got wiped out by infiltrators a couple of weeks ago and the infiltrators took the interpreter with them to the rondy-voo site. Wound up attacking the Resistance contacts. Lots of trouble. So if anything like that happens to us and the Krauts try to force you to make contact, you use the second one, the longer one, and the Resistance guys will know what to do."

Caje glanced at the sheet and froze for a moment, puzzled.

"What is it, LeMay?"

"Nothin', Sergeant Quillen. I've got it. How far do we have to go?"

Quillen eyed him. "That's 'need to know', LeMay. You don't need to know. Just be ready when we get there. Get back where you were."

The normally sure-footed scout tripped on his way. Prentiss' friend from the café moved his foot back. "I'd be careful if I was you. All kinds of things can happen on these assignments, you know?" He smirked.

Caje kept his face expressionless and moved into position. Quillen signaled the detail to leave, and took off at double-time. The others followed as quickly as they could, with Caje just ahead of their BAR man.

_Remy, what t'e hell were you doing?_

x x x

Doc greeted Kirby and Littlejohn when they returned to the bivouac. "I'd stay as far away from Sarge as I could, if I were you. He's not happy about Hanley sending Caje out –"

"Sending Caje out? Where'd he send him?" Littlejohn inquired quietly.

"Quillen needed an interpreter since Remy was hurt and Hanley sent Caje out with him."

"He did WHAT?" Kirby yelped and Littlejohn's big hand slapped over the BAR man's mouth before Saunders could notice.

"Too late," Doc muttered, as Sarge looked up.

"Something wrong, Kirby?"

Doc and Littlejohn exchanged a look. "No, Sarge, Kirby just –" "I think it's his toe, Sarge, you know –" They spoke simultaneously and managed to cancel each other out.

Kirby stepped into the gap and glared at Saunders. "I can't believe it! Those guys beat one Cajun up, almost got him killed – what do you think they'll do to Caje?"

"Shut up, Kirby! Just shut up!" Saunders roared, full-voice. "This is the Army! We have to follow orders, even when we don't like them. You don't get to pick and choose – 'I like this order, but not those.' I know that. You know that. Caje knows it." Saunders' blazing blue eyes met Kirby's angry brown ones. "He also knows how to watch his back. He'll be fine. And that's it!"

The non-com turned to look at the rest of the squad. "I think you've all got too much time on your hands. Weapons inspection in 10."

The squad grumbled, but quietly.

"In 10. You'd better get moving."

x x x

It was subtle, but Caje knew he was getting payback for speaking out against Prentiss.

Branches were held just long enough to snap back into his face. The man in front of him stopped abruptly for no reason and jerked the butt of his gun backwards. The scout dodged just in time; he couldn't avoid being hit, but he did avoid being hit in a way that would have made it difficult for him to walk for a while. The BAR man behind him jabbed him in the back with the barrel of the gun continuously. There was no point in complaining, even if he'd been disposed to. Everything could be explained as happenstance and Quillen would dismiss it, even if he hadn't actually encouraged it.

Caje's thoughts were on the passphrase sheet Quillen had given him. The briefing from the S2 lieutenant assigned to bring the interpreters up to date was short and to the point:

"_You'll be getting two passphrases for future details to the Maquis or Resistance. The long phrase is the safe one. The short one will alert your contact that you're being coerced by infiltrators, and they'll – handle the problem."_

Remy had lied to Quillen. He would have read off the short phrase and Quillen wouldn't have reacted. The Resistance contacts would have wiped out the whole squad except for Remy. _Ah, cher… what were you t'inkin', _mon coozan? _Were you planning on deserting, maybe? Staying wit' Jeanette after we pulled out?_ _All your brave words to me_, _and you had already decided to take revenge on the men who had hurt you – and would nearly kill you_.

His thoughts were in turmoil. Raised with high ethics, taught to believe that a LeMay always took the honorable path, he'd never even considered acting otherwise – until now. The scout knew he could just as easily take Remy's vengeance for him.

_I could say it was a mistake, ask the Resistance for their silence… pay t'ese guys back._

For a moment, he coldly considered how he could make it work. Then he heard a familiar voice as clearly as he heard the sounds of the men around him.

_I can't believe you're even t'inkin' t'is, _mon vieux. _What you t'ink your _Nonc_ Pierre would say? Or even _M'sieu'_ Denis? He didn't raise you like t'at. _Mon frère _would never _do_ t'at!_

_T'eo? _He jerked his head, almost expecting to see his old friend walking beside him.

_Don't do it, Paulie._

_Go away, T'eo._ Silence.

He stuffed the paper back in his pocket and kept walking.

x x x

There was movement in the trees ahead of the squad and Quillen signaled for a halt. "LeMay, get up here."

A short, slender, grey-haired man in his fifties advanced, along with two younger men, all three of them armed. Expressionless, they watched Caje come forward.

"_Bonjour, messieurs. Nous sommes ici parce que nous avons venir le tort façon. Nous avons besoin aller a St. Mercier. Veux vous nous guider ?"__#1_

Quillen snapped his head around to look at Caje, shocked. Then he glanced back, fearful, at the Resistance contacts who were smiling at Caje, the four of them conversing easily in French.

"Sergeant Quillen, these are our contacts. This is Jean; these are Benoit and François. They're ready to take us to a safehouse where they can take t'e ammunition and explosives we brought and go over t'e map with you.

"Sair-zhon." The older man nodded at Quillen and gestured, looking at Caje. "_Nous doit bouger très vite. Suivez-nous_."#2

x x x

The return to the CP was anticlimactic, other than the looks Quillen cast back at Caje every so often.

After they passed the picket, Caje thought he saw Billy run off. _What's t'at all about?_

Quillen left to brief Hanley.

Suddenly, Caje realized the other men were in a rough circle around him. He reviewed the situation; there were six of Quillen's men and one of him. Grove, the other squad's scout, had not stayed._ T'is is not good._

"Come on, Mr. Architect. Whatcha you going to do?" Monroe, Prentiss' friend, sneered.

Someone behind the scout shoved him. Caje stumbled and caught himself, turning in mid-stride to go after his assailant. That man, the one who had been carrying the BAR, who Caje had heard called Donaldson, ducked out of reach. Then, the soldier to his left, Francisco, took a swing at him, which Caje avoided.

"College boy's a dancer, huh?" That was Monroe again. He charged Caje and connected, both of them going down.

The scout pulled himself away from Monroe and stood, unsteady, hair awry, wiping a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth. He glared at the men in fury.

McIntosh, next to Prentiss, came in and scored a couple of good punches. Caje closed on him and the two of them duked it out, Quillen's men cheering every blow McIntosh landed. Finally, the scout flattened McIntosh and bent over in pain, gasping for breath.

The squad stopped pretending to fight fair. Two of them, Francisco and Donaldson, grabbed Caje's arms and Monroe landed a hard punch to his gut. The blow knocked the wind out of him, effectively silencing him. In one fierce effort, he yanked his arm out of Donaldson's grasp, barreled into Francisco, knocking him down, and fell to his knees in the process.

Monroe landed a kick in his side and he went completely over. Quillen's squad closed in on Caje and started to stomp him.

"You SOBs." A big hand grabbed Donaldson and spun him away, knocking him out with a single punch. Littlejohn looked at the unconscious man in satisfaction.

"Lookie what we got here." It was Kirby. He was comfortable with street fighting and had no problems dealing a low blow when it was called for. Francisco dropped like a marionette whose strings were cut, groaning. "Six cowards takin' on one man. Course, that's how you treat Cajuns in your unit, isn't it?"

Kirkbride and Doc made an efficient team, and between them they took care of the other three.

McIntosh squinted at Doc from the ground. "Hey, aint you supposed to be a non-combatant?"

"I don't shoot at Germans. But I'll help beat up a cheatin' skunk any time," the medic said grimly.

Billy dashed in to Caje, helping him to stand. "Caje, we gotta get you some help."

"I'll be okay, Billy." Caje struggled for breath. "I'm not hurt that bad. T'anks."

Monroe took in the condition of his men and the anger in the eyes of Saunders' squad. "So you had to come to his rescue."

"We care for our own," Littlejohn rumbled.

Doc said quietly, "Reckon you won't understand this, but our squad stands together. Each one of us has come to the rescue of the others, one time or another. It's how we do things."

Kirkbride got a good look at Caje and winced. "Let's go. Doc, you need to take a look at our lost lamb there, before Sarge or Hanley sees him."

"Come on, Caje. Before you try to convince us no one's laid a hand on you." Doc grinned.

Billy rolled his eyes. "He already did." Kirby moved to the other side of Caje and helped Billy take him back into camp.

Quillen's men watched them go, the walking definition of brotherhood.

x x x

The next day, Caje went to see Remy.

"The young lady just left," the nurse told him

He acknowledged this with a nod.

"Try to keep your visit short, Private. He's still hurt pretty badly and he's not focusing very well."

"I understand."

Caje stood over the cot and tried to find something to say.

"You had to go out in my place, eh, Paul?"

"_Oui, _Remy."

"Looks like they worked you over too. I'm sorry." He couldn't quite meet Caje's eyes.

The tension between them grew and deepened. Neither man seemed to know what to do or how to break the silence.

"I'd better go," Caje said. "T'ey said you needed to rest." He turned abruptly away. _I can't even ask you how you could do it. Some t'ings are just better left alone._

"Paul, I – " Remy fell silent.

Caje stopped but didn't look back.

"I'm sorry, Paul," LeFranc repeated. "For everyt'ing."

The scout nodded abruptly, put his beret on and left.

x x x

Sarge ducked his head into the shelter where the squad was bivouacked. "Caje? Got a minute?"

"Sure, Sarge." The scout got carefully to his feet and reached for his kit and gun.

"Nah. Leave that. Just want to talk for a minute. You're not going anywhere. For now." Saunders gave Caje a smile.

Caje nodded. He and Saunders went outside and strolled away from the activity around them.

Saunders took an envelope from his pocket. "I didn't know if you were aware you were up for this." He shook an item out of the envelope and laid it in Caje's hand. "I didn't think you'd want a big fuss about it." Saunders handed the envelope to him.

"T'anks, Sarge. No, I don't want any big deal made." _Besides, I don't think I really wanted it, but here it is, so …_

"Lieutenant Hanley said to remind you they'll need you to testify at Prentiss' court-martial. He's going, too, and said to let you know he'd like you to drive."

"T'at's fine."

"They sent LeFranc back to London for treatment."

Caje nodded. "I'd heard."

"You all right?" Saunders lit a cigarette and squinted through the smoke the other man. "You've been quieter than usual lately." He'd learned what happened after the detail, and had developed selective blindness about the bruises on his scout's face, the uncharacteristically stiff way he walked, and about the scratched knuckles and other minor injuries among the rest of the squad. He'd also had ten interesting minutes with Quillen himself, all carefully out of the notice of Hanley.

"Got a lot to t'ink about, t'at's all. I just need a little time." He smiled crookedly at Saunders.

"Going to get in the way of getting the job done?"

"Never, Sarge. Whatever we got to do, I'll be ready."

"Good." He gestured to the envelope. "Congratulations, Caje. You deserve it."

Caje nodded and watched Sarge saunter back to the bivouac. He looked at the envelope again, put the item back in and folded it to put in his pocket. He sighed and went to Supply to pick up what he needed.

x x x

"Court dismissed." The officer in charge of the court-martial slammed his gavel down and the assembled personnel stood up and began to leave.

Caje put on his cap and exited the building. _I thought I'd feel better seeing Prentiss pay for what he did to Remy, but I don't. It only fixed a symptom. The disease is still out there._

"LeMay! Wait!"

Caje looked back to find Quillen walking toward him quickly. Only Army discipline kept him from leaving before the sergeant caught up.

"That should have been you up there, LeMay."

Caje surveyed him stoically. "I'd like to see you try, Sergeant. The mission went exactly the way it was supposed to. What kind of charges could you file?"

"I'd think of something. You read the wrong phrase – I don't understand why we weren't killed!"

Silently, Caje shook his head. Casually, he took a pack of cigarettes out and shook one loose. After a moment's hesitation, he offered the pack to Quillen, who waved it off.

"I figured out the phrases had been switched – probably in transmission. The long phrase was always supposed to be the safe one. Remy must not have been told." _And t'at was a lie, T'eo. Gonna yell at me about t'at?_

"Why the hell didn't you say that right out?"

Caje lit his cigarette and idly, slowly, shook the match out. He raised dark, unreadable eyes to the non-com. "It was 'need to know', Sergeant. You didn't need to know."

Quillen eyed him. "You don't like me very much, do you?"

"Permission to speak freely, Sergeant?"

"Skip the military crap, LeMay. Say what you want. I asked."

"My father told me once, when I was telling him how proud I was to be Cajun and how much I resented him trying to make me stop being one, about my uncle. _Nonc_ Pierre was a Lieutenant in the Infantry in the First World War. He came home on furlough, wounded. Someone who worked with my father insulted my uncle - said the only reason anyone would make a Cajun an officer was to keep the other swamp trash in line." Caje's face was a mask, but his eyes were fiery and his voice was a near-growl. "_Nonc _Pierre was the reason I chose Infantry. I wanted to fight t'e same way he did, me. I t'ought maybe things had changed enough that I would be able to be a good soldier and serve and being Cajun would be an advantage instead of a liability. But t'e joke's on me. Not'ing's changed."

Quillen didn't answer him, and the scout continued.

"Me, Remy, _mes autres __coozans_ – we're still 'swamp trash' to people like you. T'eo Dubois, my best friend all my life, died on Omaha. Levi Mallott was wounded and died as we were carrying him back, trying to get him help. René Michaud fell on a grenade. Emil Gautreux, he died horribly. I've been wounded more times t'an I want to t'ink, me.

Caje paused. "All of us enlisted and fought for this country because us, we're Americans as much as we are Cajuns. Now Remy's lying in a hospital for no other reason than he's a Cajun and he didn't matter enough to the men he fought beside for them to keep him from getting hurt. Not'ing's changed. Not'ing."

"Something must have changed," Quillen said softly. "Saunders told me you were a real asset to him. Hanley said straight out you'd earned his trust. Your buddies came to your rescue, not once, but twice, just because they thought you might need 'em. Nobody here knows you better than those men do and they call you 'friend'. That's got to mean somethin'."

He waved to his men, and they formed up around him. "Hell, I never met a Cajun like you before. I grew up around people I expected not to respect or admire. And I won't lie to you. LeFranc's not the guy I'd pick to have in my squad. But if – when – he comes back, I'll make sure things are different. I promise – for you."

"_Merci_, Sergeant Quillen, but I'd rat'er you promised for Remy's sake." Caje turned and walked away.

After he was sure Quillen and his men were gone, he took the paper with the passphrases out of his uniform pocket and unfolded it. Caje looked at the words for another moment, then took the cigarette out of his mouth and touched it to the paper. He might see if he could find a way to suggest to Hanley that Remy not go back to Quillen's squad. Glancing down at the brand new stripe on his sleeve, Corporal LeMay thought _I believe he might listen_ and smiled without any real humor.

_How desperate you must have been, _mon coozan, _to think that murder was t'e only way out. _The paper in his hand darkened and crumbled. He tapped it on the side of a nearby metal barrel, and watched as the fragile pieces scattered on the wind.

-30-

#1 _Good Day, gentlemen. We are here because we have gone the wrong way. We need to go to St. Mercier. Will you guide us? _

#2 _We must move quickly. Follow us._


End file.
